First, a poem by Antonio Machado, as translated by Robert Bly:

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt- marvelous error!-

that a spring was breaking

out in my heart.

I said: Along which secret aqueduct,

Oh water, are you coming to me,

water of a new life

that I have never drunk?

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt- marvelous error!

that I had a beehive

here inside my heart.

And the golden bees

were making white combs

and sweet honey

from my old failures.

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt- marvelous error!

that a fiery sun was giving

light inside my heart.

It was fiery because I felt

warmth as from a hearth,

and sun because it gave light

and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night, as I slept,

I dreamt- marvelous error!

that it was God I had

here inside my heart.

Lately, three themes have been appearing, reappearing, and rippling through my yoga, meditation, and daily life. They are:

• the discovery and cultivation of one's inner teacher (our individual voice)
• the ability to find freedom within constraint
• the idea of surrender

***

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt- marvelous error! -

that a spring was breaking

out in my heart.

I said: Along which secret aqueduct,

Oh water, are you coming to me,

water of a new life

that I have never drunk?

I have spent time in my life seeking mentors: in art school, in my theatre work, and as a yoga teacher. I often had to be my own mentor, a sometimes painful and often solitary pursuit. The above poem, by Antonio Machado, describes with a poet's brilliance those longings of mine to be mentored.

Barbara Benagh, my yoga teacher, has helped awaken the voice of my inner teacher. I am now a student in her year long Art of Teaching program. Her skillfulness comes through as she guides us with her choice of words, the tone and cadence of her delivery, and by the occasional hands-on adjustment. The depth of her skill comes from her decades of teaching, as a student and observer of others, and her dedicated home practice.

The emphasis on cultivating a home practice creates a wellspring for Barbara's teaching. In turn, her students reap the benefits of her explorations into yoga poses, the sequencing of asanas, breath work, and meditation. Her example asks us to commit to time on the yoga mat outside of class. So when I, as a teacher, see the fluidity with which her self-exploration is shared with a group, my pursuit finds community, support, and inspiration. I also have found someone willing to ask me to do more, to go beyond my current boundaries with curiosity and attentiveness.

                                                                          ***

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt- marvelous error!-

that I had a beehive

here inside my heart.

And the golden bees

were making white combs

and sweet honey

from my old failures.

One of the more challenging aspects of practicing yoga is a growing awareness of the impact of my thoughts, words and actions on the people and world around me. I find myself thinking about the political implications of my mundane consumer decisions. I look at labels on food and clothing to see where things are grown, made, with what, and by whom. I chose to become vegetarian almost a year ago.

My husband bought us a solar oven last year, and it cooks food beautifully on even moderately sunny days. We have gone through our house looking at our usage of water, heating oil and electricity, and have cut our household consumption by over 30%. We don't watch television, except for viewing DVD's.

The impetus behind those decisions has come primarily from what yoga has led me to think about. It also prompts lively discussions with my children. They want to understand why my husband and I make the choices we do, especially when it impacts their lives. We may not have television, but we create other options for entertainment, including game nights, reading, and conversation.

                                                                            ***  

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt- marvelous error!-

that a fiery sun was giving

light inside my heart.

It was fiery because I felt

warmth as from a hearth,

and sun because it gave light

and brought tears to my eyes.

Occasionally, I want to give in to the urge to run off to India or join a local ashram, living a life of simplicity and devotion. But decisions I made over the years have created this family that binds and obliges me to my relationships and routines.

This sense of being bound has come home to me in my recent explorations of a rather intriguing asana- Bharadvajasana. This seated pose combines a bound half-lotus with a spinal twist- and that's just for starters. I have been drawn to this pose because it is, at first glance, so constricting. At least I felt it was constricting, until I got quiet enough to listen to what was traveling through my body on the steady flow of my breath.

Have you ever taken the lid off a dollhouse and peered down through the floors at its furnishings and inhabitants? That was the image that appeared after I had been in Bharadvajasana for some time. I could look inside my body and locate my spine, the inside of my skin, the expansion and contraction of muscles, the sensation of breath and blood as they moved through, down, up, and around.

More than that, however, was the discovery of the residue of memory, barely discernible as vapor, shadow, and echo. I know that memory is stored in our cells, and I had certainly experienced emotional release during yoga. But I hadn't ever seen it revealed in this way. Holding on was elusive; things dissolved before coming into sharper focus, but they were my memories nonetheless.

I return to this pose often as I work out details of my life as a mother, wife, and householder. It is those details that are the 'ties that bind', and those ties lead to the active asking of questions around my ideas of parenting, relationship, and life's purpose. Each day is a maneuvering of schedules, piles of laundry (clean and dirty), piles of papers (useful and past expiration date), and piles of belongings that need to be used, stored, or discarded. My yoga practice is sending me the message that it is time to become more than a 'pile-it', and to move towards that which is essential. There is liberation in letting go, whether it's some emotional scar, a long held opinion, or faded college lecture notes.

***

Last night, as I slept,

I dreamt- marvelous error!-

that it was God I had

here inside my heart.

Throughout my life, I have resisted surrender. It seemed full of negative connotation, suggested defeat, implied there had to be victor and vanquished. In class recently with Barbara, I was in a seated pose called Baddha Konasana (Bound Angle Pose). I was happy right where I was, and unaware of the other students' presence. We started to walk our hands forward along the floor, bringing a deeper release into the hips as our chests neared our bare feet.

Barbara said to me, 'Liza, put your head down'. She must have seen some possibility that I wasn't aware of because my forehead came down and rested on the floor. I was struck with the sensation of surrender: to my teacher's instruction, to the nuances of the pose, to the deep internal emotional release of giving myself over to something I can't quite name. I felt as though I was surrendering with trust into some unknown place that simultaneously felt wholly universal and completely private. In that moment came a reaffirmation of commitment to this path of yoga and a deeper gratitude for the guide.

Reflection and commentary are big components of Barbara's teaching style. She once talked about those little earthquakes we experience regularly in life. She was speaking of the large and small unsettling events that can lead to concretizing habits in our body, heart and mind. These events can fray us over time; we become weaker in some areas, and overly fortified in others.

An individual prepped and supported by a yoga practice can weather these little earthquakes with greater ease. We move our body in and out of poses, tuning in to our breath and current emotional and mental states. We learn to cultivate patience as we wait for release, without getting too precious about the result. We also experience earthquakes that crack open our hard to reach places. This movement can leave us more healthily configured; it can also leave us feeling more vulnerable, so we develop more skills in self-care.

A sweet rawness has stayed with me since my time in Baddha Konasana, leaving me to wonder if it's possible that yoga is the master electrician rewiring us towards 'truer'connection.